XVIII | A LITTLE BIT OF KINDNESS
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But she knew it would be both foolish and impractical to wear a ball gown.
She was attending—if it could even be called that—the ball as a servant, not a guest. In one hand she held a brush, and in the other her trusty pail of water.
Not a glass of wine or a gold-embroidered invitation Celvene would only see in her dreams. The only invitation she'd received was a torn note jammed into her hands by a man she didn't recognize, with handwriting that was barely legible.
So instead, she wore her servant's uniform, scratchy white fabric curled and reaching her knees. Soon enough, she'd switch shifts, and that was hopefully when she'd enact her plan—although she had no way to blend in with the rest of the partygoers.
She'd tried to find Aleksandr—or any person with authority in the castle, for that matter—but it was as if he'd managed to make everyone with any semblance of power vanish.
She'd strolled the halls for hours under the guise of cleaning, a soapy sponge clutched in one hand as she wound through the halls.
And she hadn't found a single person. Not even Oriel—though that didn't surprise Celvene; she had a hunch that the upcoming ball was not their scene, and they'd try to get as far away as possible.
She didn't recognize a lot of the people with power, sure, given she tried to lay relatively low to avoid drawing suspicion.
But wouldn't they have been attending the ball?
She needed to alert them about Melantha and Noriya.
The possibility of them intercepting the ball was very real and very haunting.
Celvene knew Melantha wasn't allowed, and Melantha was panicked.
That was enough to tell Celvene that whatever Melantha's reason was for being in her enemy's kingdom, it wasn't good.
And she knew it wasn't a coincidence she'd found her the night before a grand ball.
Dragging her gaze up to the ballroom, she hadn't gotten over the sheer size of the room.
The entrance to Virion's castle was big.
The throne room was bigger. But the ballroom—Celvene was certain none of the other rooms in the castle held a candle to its size.
There had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of partygoers crowded in the marbled room.
Colorful dresses billowed like the gentle bloom of a flower, and sleek tuxedos dotted the dance floors.
Celvene tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, crossing her arms. She'd opted to not invite Khamisi.
If she were to run into Aleksandr, she didn't need him pressuring her friend to do anything, especially if Aleksandr didn't believe her word about Melantha.
Khamisi wouldn't technically have any right to be attending the ball anyways, seeing as it was invitation-only.
She could have invited someone from the circus, who likely would have been able to get in under the guise of performing for partygoers, but she was sure they had a performance to attend.
She looped around the crowd, heading for the kitchen.
Another servant had suggested that she serve wine as a way to weave herself into the bustling crowd, and after she'd begged the head chef for the chance, he'd—gruffly—agreed.
It only took a slight white lie on her part: she acted as a waitress for the circus, serving beer to the patrons as they watched the show and bet their savings on the gambling line.
The aromatic smell of yurgirsa fruitcake and barbecued jumping weavers wafted out of the kitchen as Celvene approached. Both dishes were Aizasean staples and delicacies the general population could not afford. When she entered the kitchen, the scent only strengthened.
She sighed. Every moment spent in the castle reminded her how regular citizens suffered while the elite partied and engorged themselves on the finest dishes at the expense of Aizasea's economy and flourishment.
As she headed towards the head chef to ask where the next round of drinks was, a voice cut through the air.
"Celvene?" the accented voice said from behind her. Celvene's heart had dropped in her chest before she realized she recognized her immediately—Delythena, one of the other servants.
Delythena was a pale, frail girl with a chestnut bob of straight hair and darker eyes. Despite her unhealthy figure, to the point where her castle-supplied clothes hung off her frame, she lifted objects Celvene couldn't with ease.
"What are you doing here?" asked Celvene, glancing around the kitchen. The chefs paid them no mind. "If Tycho finds you, he'll throw a fit."
"I heard you talking with Tariq the other day while you changed the linens.
Well, I didn't hear you. The other servants did.
About how you wanted to infiltrate the ball and garner support.
" Delythena paused, and for a moment, Celvene's blood ran cold.
Was she going to rat her out? But then the girl continued, her voice finding a vigorous energy that Celvene had never heard from her. "I wanted to help you. We all do."
Celvene's lips parted, and all she could utter was, "Why?"
"You've been kind to us. You've helped us without asking, and you've given me some of your food when we aren't served enough, and you've stayed up late to pick up our slack.
We wanted to repay you. Aleksandr cannot be our king; he has turned a blind eye to our suffering and treats us like we are animals.
You may be inexperienced, but at least you have a heart; at least we know you'll try to help us.
Our next ruler has to be you. We will accept no one else. "
"I..." Everything Delythena said was true.
Even though Celvene had only been living in the castle for a few days, she'd made it her mission to make the other servants feel more welcome than they had before she'd arrived.
Her head had been woozy while she worked, and dark circles had developed under her fuchsia eyes, but it was worth it to see the others smile.
Case in point? Yesterday. Oriel had told them they could take her food.
While Celvene had barely touched the tavern food, when she finally returned to the castle, her appetite had all but vanished seeing the content smiles from other workers from a heartier meal.
They hadn't noticed she was there; she didn't want them to.
"River has a dress. You will blend in more with it.
It is from a tailor in Aizasea, and they said they were saving it for the day they could attend a ball.
But they said if they could not go, they wanted you to go in their honor," said Delythena, hurrying to a closed door at the other end of the room. Celvene followed.
"Are you... Are you sure? I've only been here for a few days, and..."
"Shush. We knew you deserved to be queen the first night you arrived, before we went to sleep."
When Celvene came to a stop in the other room, Delythena shut the door, then reached into a small pantry.
A part of Celvene worried this was a trap, but the other servants had been nothing but nice to her.
Delythena pulled out a long, flowing dress the shade of pale blush.
On the puffy sleeves and torso were darker pink flowers, the vines and leaves crawling across the entirety of the dress.
Small jewels glittered on the fine details.
"River said it came from a tailor who hails from the outskirts of Fospyae, hence the nature theme, and it took their pay for the week.
So it should be fancy enough to help you not stick out like a sore thumb.
I cannot help you with... you know, your actual appearance.
You will have to find a workaround for that.
" Delythena shoved the dress into Celvene's arms and saluted her.
"Good luck, my queen. Perhaps you will be able to procure more spending into the pay of servants while you are at it. "
Celvene stared at the dress as Delythena raced out of the room. Her mind was blank, yet crowded with thoughts.
She shook it off and wasted no time in getting dressed. The dress didn't fit well and was baggy in most spots, but it was far better than Celvene's simple garb. And now she could go into the crowd without anyone stopping her on account of her attire.
Heading back out, she smiled to herself. Then, she headed to the crowd with a fire burning in her heart; she had to make sure Delythena, River, and the other servants' efforts would not be in vain.
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